


Your Croissant is Getting Cold

by attheendoftheday



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Crack, M/M, just ridiculous really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:19:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheendoftheday/pseuds/attheendoftheday
Summary: Has Ryan become a French breakfast pastry?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Decaf is the Devil's Blend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/231196) by [pikasafire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire). 



> I wrote this for a friend last Christmas, and never got around to posting it. Here you go, Kate. I hope you're glad that this is my first work I've posted after two years!
> 
> Inspired by Decaf is the Devil's Blend by pikasafire, which is hilarious and far superior to what I could ever write.
> 
> (Title is incredibly generic, but if you're wondering - taken from "Milkshake 'N' Honey" by Sleater-Kinney.)

When Spencer leaves his bunk every morning, he’s prepared for anything ranging from several rabbits hopping around the table to one of the guys laying on the floor in the state of existential despair. It’s one of the risks in being in a band with two of the world’s biggest drama queens. When he enters the kitchen, however, he’s relieved to find one of the aforementioned drama queens sitting calmly at the table, intently focused on the croissant on the plate in front of him.

“Spencer,” Brendon whispers.

“Morning,” Spencer says as he gets milk from the fridge. When he turns around, Brendon is still staring at the croissant with a look of confusion quickly morphing into one of alarm. “What’s wrong with the croissant? Could you get me one?”

“Spencer,” Brendon repeats, not taking his eyes off the pastry. “This isn’t a croissant. This is Ryan.”

Spencer doesn’t usually associate Ryan with buttery French pastries, and even when he tilts his head and squints he can’t really see any resemblance. “Is this a metaphor for him being, like, flaky? Because he’ll probably write a song about it, if you tell him.”

“No, I mean, this is actually Ryan,” Brendon says. “Our lead guitarist is this croissant. Or inside it, I can’t figure it out.”

Spencer blinks once, then twice, and puts down his milk.

“Think about it, Spence, have you seen Ryan this morning?” Brendon wheedles. “Because his bunk is empty. I checked.”

“What did you check?” Jon asks, walking in from the bunk area. He still looks half asleep, and blindly searches around for the coffee.

“Brendon thinks that Ryan turned into a croissant overnight,” Spencer explains, hoping for a reasonable reaction. He’s always banked on Jon being the other semi-sane person in the band.

Jon turns around and considers the pastry,

“I guess the ridges could look like a scarf,” he says, pondering the croissant. “If he was wrapped in it like a sausage, you know?”

Spencer concedes that the analysis is pretty accurate, but reminds himself to focus on the issue at hand. “Okay, but let’s talk about how you think that Ryan actually, physically turned into a croissant.”

Brendon raises his hands in defense, nearly knocking the plate to the ground. “Weirder things have happened,” he says. “I’ve heard things from people. I have sources.”

“What sources,” Spencer asks, but Brendon looks like he’s just come up with a brilliant idea, which is never a good sign. 

“I know who to call,” he says, and rushes off to get his phone. Spencer can’t hear who it is that he’s calling, but he imagines them to be just as bizarre as Brendon, which is why he’s not as surprised as he should be when Gerard Way shows up at the door.

“Hi,” Gerard says. He scratches at his nose, and Spencer can see that he’s wearing black nail polish.

“Uh,” Spencer says. He inches back to let Gerard through, and pulls Brendon aside.

“How do you know Gerard Way?” Spencer hisses through his teeth. He would have understood if Pete Wentz or fucking Gabe Saporta or literally anyone else showed up besides the actually famous baby goth sitting in their bus. “Also, how is he here? Aren’t they touring Europe right now?”

“I told you I have sources!” Brendon says smugly, and joins Gerard at the table. They both stare at the croissant with matching looks of concern. Jon looks at the pair, gives a halfhearted wave that could also be interpreted as a muscle spasm, and walks back to the bunks. Gerard nods in greeting.

“I’ve been here, man,” Gerard says, leaning back in his chair and biting a fingernail between his uncomfortably small baby teeth. “There was this whole situation with Frank and a cup of coffee, it was wild.”

“What happened?” Spencer asks despite himself.

“Oh, nothing,” Gerard says unconcernedly. “Turns out he wasn’t coffee after all. I just hadn’t slept in a couple days.”

“That’s very comforting,” Spencer says. Brendon flips him off and turns to Gerard. 

“So, what do I have to do?” Brendon asks. “Should I, like, eat him? It’s like giving a princess true love’s kiss. Or something.”

“That’s . . . not like this situation at all,” Spencer says. “Besides, you’d have to be a knight to do that. I’m still not even sure your balls have dropped yet.”

“I’m manly,” Brendon objects, looking affronted. He bends down to retie his My Little Pony-patterned Converse. “The manliest. Really.”

“Anyway,” Spencer continues. “Are you going to eat the croissant or not? Because if you don’t, I will.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Gerard says, shrugging. Brendon takes a deep breath and picks up the croissant. He takes a small nibble at first, as if waiting for a sudden scream of pain, and when the coast is clear he swallows the remaining amount in two bites.

“It tasted normal,” he says. They wait in silence for several seconds. When no Ryan appears, Brendon’s eyes get very, very large. “Oh God. I just ate our guitarist.”

“That you did,” Spencer observes. Brendon bottom lip starts to quiver and Gerard pats him awkwardly on the arm, looking vaguely guilty. 

“We need him,” Brendon says, looking more and more liable to start crying, which Spencer is not prepared to deal with. “I need him. Oh my God, what am I going to do? What have I done?”

The sound of the door creaking behind the three makes them turn.

“Uh,” Ryan says, looking from Brendon to Gerard to Spencer to Brendon and back to Gerard. “What did you do?”

“Ryan!” Brendon leaps up off his chair and into Ryan’s arms, burrowing his face in Ryan’s neck. “I didn’t eat you, oh thank God,”

“What,” Ryan says, but he’s cut off by Brendon grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him down for a kiss. He looks frozen for a moment, but relaxes after a second, pulling Brendon close to deepen the kiss, arms winding their way around Brendon’s back.

“Aw,” Gerard coos. He even claps his hands a little. 

Spencer tilts his head. It’s cute, in the way that two squirrels mating on your neighbor’s lawn is cute. Mostly he’s just glad they got it over with, even if it took a large misunderstanding and a large croissant to make it happen.

When Ryan’s hands start making their way down into danger territory, Spencer clears his throat. Loudly. They spring apart, and Brendon’s eyes are kind of glassy and their lips are red and wet and wow, Spencer could have lived his entire life without having seen that.

“If you don’t mind, we’re going to have sex now,” Brendon says, pulling on the back of Ryan’s shirt. “You can stay, if you want.” Not waiting for a response, they disappear into the bunks.

They stand for a moment before hearing Jon’s muffled scream, and see him walk into the kitchen. He gazes at them for a moment, looking so completely done that Spencer almost feels sorry for him, before opening the door and walking out. Spencer doesn’t think he’s wearing shoes.

Gerard and Spencer stare at each other. Gerard kind of shuffles around, and plays with the sleeves of his jacket. Spencer rolls his eyes. If anyone has the right to be uncomfortable in this situation, it’s Spencer.

“So.” Gerard still doesn’t look up. “Wanna get food?” Spencer asks, and Gerard shrugs.

“Sure.”

And with the loud, slightly squeaky moans behind them receding into the distance, the two exit through the door.


End file.
